Luctor et Emergo
by doomcherries
Summary: I struggle, but I'll survive. Sara goes on a journey to find herself. WIP
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own them. :( 

I may be absolutely crazy, but I've found myself head-first into a multi-chapter fic. This is my first in the CSI/GSR fandom, so I hope all goes well. I'd like to thank **mingsmommy **for the beta, **princessklutz04 **for reading and nuding me along and to **ardvari **for making me not give up on this.

The title--Luctor et Emergo--means "I struggle, but I'll survive", which I thought was fitting for Sara. :)

* * *

_Morning has come, another day  
I must pack my bags and say goodbye..._

_-- Hands to Heaven by Breathe_

Everything comes full circle. I took a cab when I first arrived in Vegas and now I was taking one to leave. Except, my arrival here was a markedly more happy one. It brought me to Gil, I was full of excitement and the sun was shining, making my future here look bright. Now I was leaving him, my mind full of uncertainly, and I was sneaking away in the night, my future beyond the city unknown.

Tears cloud my vision as I scanned the Vegas strip, lights touching everything. It's funny, after so many years of living here, I'd never really stopped to enjoy the beauty the city holds. Behind the façade of money, sex and drugs, there is something inherently beautiful about the numerous hotels and flashing lights and water displays. There's something comforting about the light we've created in the desert.

Unfortunately, my job deals with the darker side of Vegas, which clouds the beauty tourists flock here to see. Despite dealing with death all day I love—loved—my job; I felt like I gave innocent people the justice they deserved. But not anymore; instead, it weighs me down and just makes me realize even more how twisted and cruel people are. 

Frantically, I glance left and right, wondering if I was doing the right thing. I felt so lost sitting here trying to contemplate my future. So many things in my life just started piling up on each other; I don't even know the real reason I'm leaving.

I need to sort myself out.

If I were normal, I'd be getting married soon. But I'm not, and I know that. I can feel myself breaking apart at the invisible seams that barely hold me together. I don't want my friends to see the empty shell I've become. 

I really don't want Gil to see me unravel and have him try so hard to help me pick up the pieces. Because I know he would. He'd smooth back my hair, press kisses to my forehead and tell me everything would be okay. That we could fix it together.

I let out another choked sob and I see the cabbie look up at me through the rearview mirror. His eyebrows furrow slightly. "You okay, Miss?"

"Yeah, fine," I say shakily. He can see through my lie, but I don't care. He doesn't know the pain I'm going through.

My mind is in hyper drive. The words of my letter are burned in my mind. But I knew I would never be able to tell him to his face I was leaving. He'd pull me into a hug and I'd be lost in the comfort of his body. 

_Gil, you know I love you. I feel I've loved you forever. Lately, I haven't been feeling very well. Truth be told, I'm tired._

I wouldn't have had the nerve to leave.

That's why I left the way I did.

With Gil, the whole world disappears and it's just us. He makes me forget my problems and makes me feel so incredibly loved. But when he's gone, I allow myself to think of all the horrible things from my past. And after…Natalie, I realized, I never really killed those demons.

_Since my father died, I've spent most of my entire life with ghosts. We've been like close friends, and out there in the desert, it occurred to me it was time for me to bury them._

They follow me around like a piece of gum you can't quite get rid of on the bottom of your shoe.

I need to find myself. I need to find peace within myself. And to do that I can't be with Gil. I hope he'll find the strength to forgive me one day.

_I can't do that here._

_No matter how hard I try to fight it off, I'm left with the feeling that I have to go. I have no idea where I'm going, but I know I have to do this. If I don't, I'm afraid I'll self-destruct—and worse, you'll be there to see it happen._

The city lights still burn bright as I turn around and take one last look at the city I've called home for almost nine years. Tears burn behind my eyes as I think of all the things I'm leaving behind; I'm leaving a home, a job, friendships, and the most important person in my life.

I turn back around and let the silent tears flow.

_Know that you are my one and only. I'll miss you with every beat of my heart._

_Goodbye._


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I don't own them. :(

Thanks to **mingsmommy **for the wonderful beta and **princessklutz04** for reading and nudging me along. :) All mistakes are my own.

* * *

The cab pulls up to McCarran International Airport and I barely know what to do with myself. I consider having the driver turn around and drive me back home.

But I can't heal there.

I feel stuck. I want so badly to be free of my past, but I'm terrified to leave the comfort of the one place that's ever felt like home.

Trying to wipe the last of my tears in a pathetic attempt to make myself presentable, I prepare myself for walking into an airport with no idea of where I'm going. I shuffle out of the cab and the driver follows suit, helping me get my two suitcases from the trunk.

I manage a weak smile and thank him for his help. He looks at me with worried eyes. "Are you sure you're alright? Do you need me to call anyone?" His voice is so soothing and calm; I can't help but let a few tears slip down my cheeks.

"No, no. I'll be okay," I say softly. "I, uh, how much do I owe you?"

He clears his throat, "Twenty-five dollars, Miss."

I shove him thirty dollars, tell him to keep the change and watch as he gets back into the cab. He takes one last look at me before he drives off. I stand there for a few minutes, my two suitcases besides me and look around as if expecting a random person to stop and tell me what to do.

Amongst a city of millions, I feel alone.

I could go anywhere, any place I'd ever dreamed of going to was within my grasp. When I was younger, I dreamed of going to Europe. Spain, France, Italy, Germany, all of it. I found the idea of kings and queens, princes and princesses fascinating and wanted to go to a place that would make me feel important.

I always knew it was silly, but I thought maybe the Queen would want another daughter and adopt me. That way, I could wear a real crown and not get yelled at for being a stupid five-year-old girl. I can hear my father's voice in my head. _"You are never gonna be no stinking princess. God, Sara, you need to grow up."_

Or instead of Europe, I could go to Africa. I could make myself useful there. Thousands of people would benefit from my traveling there; I could finally do some good. South America is a good destination, too.

But I know, as grand and wonderful as those ideas may be, my demons don't lie in the grand palaces of Europe, the poor slums of Africa or the tropical rain forests of South America. Plus, I think sadly, if I were to visit any of those places, I'd want Gil with me.

A few more tears manage to roll down my face and I quickly wipe them away. This is was so much harder than I thought it would be. Grabbing both suitcases, I proceed into the airport.

I get in the shortest line I can find, which at five in the morning isn't more than five people. An obnoxiously cheery woman greets me with a plastered on smile. "May I help you, ma'am?"

"Uh, yeah." I look down at my feet for a moment. I still have no idea where I'm going.

Gil and I thought about going to San Francisco earlier in the year. We both thought it would be a nice place to relax and would pay homage to the place we first met. And I knew if I wanted, he would have helped me contact my mother.

We never did get our vacation and I wish I could call my little sojourn a vacation, but vacations are meant to be peaceful and something you do to relax. Even if I did fool myself into thinking I was taking a vacation, I doubt it would work.

Already I can feel fresh tears starting to well up. "Ma'am?"

"Right," I wipe at my face. "I need a one-way ticket to San Francisco."

She smiles at me and starts typing. "Let me see what I can find for you."

I turn and look behind me, half expecting to find Gil standing there, ready to wrap me in his arms. There's no one behind me besides a weary looking businessman waiting in line. I give him a half-hearted smile and turn back to the woman in front of me.

"Okay, I've got a flight in an hour. Does that work for you?"

I simply nod.

"Alright, ma'am, that'll be 130."

Handing her my Visa, she beings frantically typing again. She hands me back my card and ticket with that damn smile still plastered on her face. "Have a nice flight, Ms. Sidle."

I mumble a quick thanks and make my way down to the main concourse. For as early as it is, the din of the airport is almost deafening; music plays over the speakers, occasionally broken up by the numerous flight departures, and the conversations of those walking by meld into each other in an unidentifiable mesh of words.

Feeling the dull ache in my muscles, I make my way over to the nearest bench and sit down. Staring down at my ticket, my hands begin trembling. I've never been this confused, this lost before.

I wish I could blame this last case for my problems, but I know I can't. It's more just the straw that broke the camel's back type of thing. For the past year, things have been piling up, making it harder and harder to cope with my…issues.

When Gil went to teach in Massachusetts, I was stunned to say the least; I'm a little ashamed to say I never really got over it. For a long time, and even a little now, I wondered if I had done something to prompt his leaving. I wondered why he couldn't just tell me he was leaving. I could accept not being able to go with him; hell, we were trying to maintain a secret relationship.

His leaving also brought out a lot of insecurities I had about myself. While he was gone, I nearly convinced myself he didn't love me the way I loved him. And while nearly seven months passed in between Gil's sabbatical and me being tied in the back of a maniac's car, her words still haunt me.

_Ernie loved me more than Grissom could ever love you._

She may have been an off the wall nut, but sometimes I wonder if she had a point. I feel tears burn at my eyes and I force the idea out of my head.

No, she was just crazy.

Or maybe I went a little crazy in the desert. But after I was able to go home, I never really felt the same. I had been dragged through hell and survived; I should have been jumping to the moon at the chance of living again.

But instead, everything started to weigh on my shoulders with an oppressiveness that wouldn't go away. I switched to Swing hoping the sunlight would help lighten my mood. It didn't help; if anything I felt worse, I never saw Gil.

I truly am sick of death. My mother killed my father, I work with death and I was nearly killed. I'm tired of being the sad one, the one that lets cases get the best of her.

I need to find the Sara Sidle that loved a good mystery. I need to find the Sara Sidle that can wake up every morning with a smile on her face and know the world's a good place.

I know she's not totally lost; I was her once.

I hope I can be her again.

* * *

I rest for a while before I get up and wander the airport, absentmindedly making my way over to the gate. I never really noticed how huge this place was and just how many stores and restaurants filled the space. At several points, I see slot machines, waiting to be played by tourists already eager to make a few bucks. Or hoping to cash out big before the go back to their mediocre lives.

Let it never be said there is nothing to do in the Vegas airport.

At gate D alone, there are nineteen different shops, eighteen different places to eat and about eight bathrooms. I briefly think about just staying here. But that would never work; there are so many places I could be in Vegas, someone was bound to find me. Besides, no shower.

I make my way into a small bookshop and a young woman greets me with the standard, "Can I help you find anything?"

I blink at the woman for a moment and shake my head. "No. Just looking."

I walk up and down the aisles, not paying attention to any of the titles I read, just reading them to pass the time. When I stop at the section on nature and see books about bugs, I almost start sobbing. My fingers trail over the spines, as if I can reach Gil through the books.

I stop at the book "How Many Bugs in a Box?" and pick it up. It's stupid, childish and meant for nine to twelve year olds, but I can't help myself.

Continuing through the store, I hold the book against my chest as if it is offering me some protection. At the checkout counter, I notice postcards with butterflies decorating the front. I grab seven and add them with the purchase of the book. I quickly pay, offer the cashier a small 'thank you' and head back to my gate.

As I'm heading back, an automatic message comes on over the loud speaker: _Flight 46 to San Francisco will be boarding shortly. Passengers waiting to board Flight 46 should proceed to gate 34 D at this time._

A small line of people has formed and I quietly slip in line.

I haven't left Vegas in eight years. I came as a favor for a friend with false pretense that maybe he wanted something more. For five years, I was played with like a toy on a string until finally I was wanted. The past two years I had a home with the man I loved. And now I was leaving it all behind.

A small part of me felt like I was betraying everyone. Catherine, Warrick, Nick, Greg, Brass, Gil.

Myself.

They'd all come into work tomorrow and with the exception of Gil, they'd have no idea I left until they noticed me missing.

They'd want answers. Answers to questions Gil didn't have. Answers to questions I don't have. I hope they can accept the fact I need to go away for a while.

Not forever.

Just a while.

I step up in line and as I'm about to hand my ticket to the attendant, my phone vibrates against my hip. I know it can only be only person. I smile apologetically at the attendant and unclip my phone.

The seven letters of his name glow brightly at me: GRISSOM.

I flip open the phone and briefly contemplate answering it. My finger lingers over the TALK button but I shake my head and let out a sigh. If I answer, I'll never make it on the plane. I shift my finger and hit the END key, shutting off my phone.

There have been a lot of "firsts" in my life, but I never thought ignoring Gil would be one of them. For so long I pursued him and now I'm ignoring him? God, that's so backwards.

"Sorry," I mumble, shoving my phone back in my pocket.

The attendant just smiles at me, hands me my ticket back and says, "Have a nice flight, ma'am."

Every part of my life until this point had been routine. Get up, shower, eat, go to work. Repeat. In the almost eight years I've lived in Vegas, nearly every day has been the same. I was sure of myself, I knew who I was. I had purpose in every action and I thought about what I was doing.

Hell, even me pursuing Gil for as long as I did was thought out. When I set my mind to something, I work at it until I get it right. And despite the many setbacks and tremendous amounts of frustration, he's the best thing I ever went after.

But this—me leaving—this is not routine.

Boarding the plane, I enter a place of uncertainty.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I don't own them. :(

Thanks to **mingsmommy **for the wonderful beta and **princessklutz04** for reading and nudging me along. :) All mistakes are my own.

Thank you to everyone who's been reading thus far. :)

* * *

Flying never terrified me. You're far more likely to die traveling in cars, yet nearly everyone drives one. I've only been on a handful of flights, but I never had apprehension boarding a plane.

But as the saying goes, there's a first time for everything.

The entire flight I worried about the slightest turbulence, hoping the plane wouldn't crash. With each bump, I gripped the armrests so hard, my knuckles turned white. Dying would be the worst thing I could do to Gil. He'd forgive me for leaving, but not dying.

I can't die on him.

When the plane lands, I nearly run off and head towards baggage claim to get my suitcases. I don't even know what I packed. I just shoved as many clothes into the suitcases as possible.

I hope things match.

It's weird being back in California after so many years. Physically I feel the same, but sense of comfort washes over me. While I didn't leave anything behind (besides a haunted past) when I moved to Vegas, I feel a little more complete standing here. I grew up around here. I went to school here for a short time.

I met Gil here.

I'd like to think we would move here one day. Somewhere farther north, maybe, away from the bustle of the city. We could raise a family here, possibly. I know between the two of us, we've got enough money tucked away to sustain ourselves, but I can picture Gil taking a teaching job somewhere. If we did move, I doubt I'd get another job. I could finally relax.

But Gil's still so attached to his job, and I know I'd have a hard time leaving everyone behind for real. So, for now, Vegas is our home.

Once my suitcases come around on those annoying conveyer belts, I grab it and head outside. Stepping into the California air, I can smell the salt of the ocean and feel the breeze blow through my hair and suddenly realize how much I've missed living near water. And Lake Mead doesn't count.

The sun is slowly rising higher into the morning sky and I turn and look towards the east, shielding my eyes from the powerful rays. I pray Gil's not freaking out.

He probably is.

Drawing in a deep breath, I blow it out slowly, hoping to stave off the tears burning behind my eyelids.

All my crying the past few hours has left me achy and tired. Every muscle in my body is screaming for rest. I want nothing more than to sleep—really sleep—and forget the world exists for a bit.

Hailing a cab, I realize I have no destination.

Hotels aren't an option—I've been at one too many crime scenes, and besides, I don't have my Nonoxyl-9. Motels are even worse. I have no family here, except my mother, and I'm not sure if I'm ready to cross that bridge yet.

Getting in the cab, I give the address of the one place I haven't been to in nearly twenty-five years.

"Tamales Bay, please."

* * *

Before my dad got violent, my parents co-owned a nice little Bed and Breakfast in Tamales Bay. There were ten bedrooms, three of which my family occupied. I remember being fascinated watching all the people come and go, never knowing what kind of people would show up the next day.

Mom would get up early and make breakfast, the pleasing aroma enticing the guests from their beds, and Dad would help check people in and help them to their rooms. We were on the water, and I remember spending a lot of my time on the wrap around porch when business wasn't too busy.

The ocean wasn't more than a hundred feet from the house, and I found myself constantly sitting on the porch listening to the waves crash into the shore. From my bedroom, I could hear the rhythmic symphony, but somehow watching the waters movement captured my younger self more than the sound of it.

But when the fighting started, less people came and eventually, my parents closed the business. The house fell to shambles with nobody taking the time to repair the damages. After my father…died, my brother and I were taken away; my mother was taken into police custody and eventually, the house was sold.

I haven't seen the house since, and I'm apprehensive to revisit it after so many years. There are a lot of bad memories in that house. I don't know if I'm ready to relive them; the floorboards hold secrets that only I know.

But I was never one of those people who dwelled on the past. I never threw my hands up to the sky and yelled, "Why me?" I never questioned what I could have done to anger God to the point of severely fucking up my life.

I wasn't even sure there was a God any more. At one point, I believed, but I was so young. I told Gil once I thought people just blamed God for their mistakes. It always makes people feel better to blame someone else for their shortcomings.

But I couldn't, and still don't, understand why I had to be taken, trapped under a car and left for dead. Why did she have to leave me under a car? Why did she have to leave me in the desert?

I know Natalie had a problem with me because I knew Gil. I know she thought Gil was the reason Ernie killed himself. I guess instead of blaming God, she blamed Grissom. But maybe if she knew Ernie's suicide was to protect her, maybe none of this would have happened.

After I returned home from the hospital, Gil told me that this was all his fault. Pulling him into my arms, I remember telling him there was no way he could have known I would become the next target.

I hate to admit, but for a brief moment, I blamed him for my kidnapping. Maybe if he wouldn't have gotten so involved in the miniatures, he wouldn't have gotten so tangled up in Natalie and she wouldn't have gone after me as revenge.

_I wrapped my arms around his shoulders and kissed his check. "Come to bed, Gil."_

_I felt him physically sigh and he paused to pull off his glasses. Rubbing his eyes, he said, "I need to finish this, Sara."_

_An exact replica of his office sat in front of him, half finished. The miniature killer cases weighed heavily on everyone, but Gil had taken it the hardest. I knew his intentions were good, but the past several months neither of us had slept well. We went to bed tired and woke up tired._

_We both needed rest._

_I moved to kneel beside him and looked up at him. "It'll still be here when you wake up," I said softly._

_His gaze stays with the miniature, his steady hand used an Exacto knife to cut out another section of a bookshelf. He can't even bother to look at me. "I need to do this."_

"_It can wait a few ho—"_

_Gil slammed his hand down, a section of unglued wall fell over and I jumped back in surprise. Without a word, I got up and headed towards the bedroom. From behind me came his voice, soft yet laced with irritation. "Sara."_

_I turned around slowly, and faced him, "Don't worry about it, Grissom. There'll be more nights when we're both off."_

Maybe I wouldn't be here, over six hundred miles away from my home, going completely out of my mind.

But blaming him isn't fair. I can't even blame Ernie Dell for killing himself. Just like I can't blame my parents for fighting.

* * *

As the cab pulls up gravel road, nervousness shoots through my system and pools low in my stomach. Stepping out of the cab, the driver follows me and helps me unload my suitcases from the trunk.

I'm thankful I went to the bank this week; this trip cost me an arm and a leg. But that's what I get for taking a San Francisco cab out of city limits. With a nod and a smile, he gets back in the cab and drives off, leaving me staring at the house before me.

The sun sits high in the morning sky, and I have to shield my eyes to get a better look at the house I once called home.

It looks better than I remember. Instead of the pale yellow siding, the new owners have painted it an eggshell blue and repainted all the trim white. The fresh paint seems to have breathed new life into the house, making it look more appealing than we ever could make it look. Shutters adorn the windows, painted the same white as the trim and the roof has been reshingled.

Making my way to the porch, I climb the steps, each one creaking under my weight, and I can almost hear the voices of my past whisper in my ear. I try to shake them away as I ring the bell.

An older man, I figure early seventies, opens the door, a warm smile on his face. He ushers me in and takes both of my suitcases from my hands, introducing himself, "I'm Frank, pleasure to met you…"

"Sara," I say, offering him my hand.

He sets my luggage down and shakes my hand as he continues talking, his voice friendly. "Sara, welcome. Do you have a reservation?"

I bite my lip and shake my head. "Sorry, this is such a last minute trip and I don't really have anywhere else to go."

Frank frowns slightly and looks behind him. "Let me go talk to my wife."

He moves passed me and exits through a door that leads to the kitchen. Letting out a sigh, I try to hold back the tears. If there's no room (which I should have figured) I'd need to find somewhere to go.

I feel like a damn nomad.

A woman, at least five or ten years younger than Frank, comes into the room, a pleasant smile on her face. Her hair is slightly mussed, an apron covers her faded jeans and green tank top and her glasses are falling off her nose. Wiping her hands on the apron, she extends it forward and grasps mine. I shake back and instantly felt comforted by her presence.

Her smile widens, "Nice to meet you, Sara. I'm Mary."

I nod and offer the best smile I can manage.

"I understand you'd like to stay here." She walks behind a small desk and begins flipping through a series of day planners.

"Yes."

She flips through a couple of pages and grabs a pen. "For how long?"

I bite my lip. "I'm not sure, exactly."

Peering over her glasses, I can see the flash of sadness cross her features. I only met my maternal grandparents once, but Mary reminds me a lot of my grandmother. They both shared that softness towards others that seemed natural.

"Well," she starts, flipping through more pages, "we don't have any reservations in the room right off the stairs for about a month. But it's the smallest one." She looks back up at me. "Would you be okay with that?"

Slowly, I nod. "That would be wonderful."


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I don't own them. :(

Thanks to **mingsmommy **for the wonderful beta and **princessklutz04** for reading and nudging me along. :) All mistakes are my own.

Thank you to everyone who's been reading thus far. :)

I have finals week looming upon me, so posting the next chapter may be delayed due to intense cramming and no time to write.

* * *

The room right off the stairs used to be mine.

My parents always thought the bigger of the rooms should be left for the guests. I never minded; I didn't need huge amounts of space to keep me happy. But when the fighting started, I wished my room was bigger, so I could hide and escape the screaming.

I feel a tingle of fear work its way down my spine and settle in the pit of my stomach. Picking up my suitcases, I follow Mary up the stairs and try to absorb how different everything is. I don't remember the house looking this…inviting.

To the left of the staircase, the wall is covered with several different pictures. Some frames are red, some are black, some are white, all creating a kaleidoscope of life memories against the beige walls.

Each picture seems to glow with happiness. Leaning forward, I touch a black and white photo of a man and a woman, whom I assume are Mary and Frank, and have a hard time controlling my emotions. The blatant look of love in both their eyes makes my heart ache.

Mary stops in front of me and smiles. "That was taken the day before Frank and I got married. God, that was nearly forty years ago." Sighing contently to herself, Mary turns back towards the bedrooms and presses on.

The fear taking hold of me worsens as we near the bedroom, all the memories of my childhood starting to boil up from my subconscious, trying to command my attention. I don't know what to expect as she opens the door, but I feel like I'm being led straight to the gates of hell, awaiting the unknown.

I don't even realize I'm holding my breath until I feel my lungs burning for oxygen. Only as Mary opens the door do I release my held breath. She moves before me, pointing out features, busying herself with fluffing pillows, but I can't hear a word she's saying. Blood rushes to my ears, and I can only hear the rapid beat of my heart in my head.

The room is exactly the way I remember it, except fresher. The walls are almost the exact shade of pink, just updated and the chair rail has been painted white. A twin bed is placed under the window with two matching end tables on either side. On the wall directly opposite the bed, there's a dresser and a mirror. Next to the dresser, a door leading to the small half bath.

Setting my suitcases aside, I run my hand along the dresser, feeling the coolness of the wood underneath my fingertips. Mary turns to me with a small smile on her face. "I know it's not much, but will this do?"

I nod and manage to utter out a weak, raspy, "yes," before she continues speaking.

"The bathroom's without a shower, but at the end of the hall is a community bathroom you can use to wash up." She pauses, looking me over. "Lunch is in an hour, but I can make you something now if you'd like. You look like you've had a rough trip."

For the first time since I left, I feel the heavy weight of tiredness pull at my eyes. I want nothing more than to sleep and disappear for a few hours. "No, thank you, I'll be fine."

Mary nods, and walking to the door turns to me and says, "Enjoy your stay." She shuts the door behind her, leaving me surrounded by memories.

Looking up, I catch my gaze in the mirror. I almost jump back, shocked by the person starting back at me. I look like I've been run over and survived; my hair is sticking out in several different directions, there are deep, dark circles around my tired eyes and my skin is paler than normal. I lean closer and notice the light gone from my eyes, their color a muddied brown. This trip has already aged me well beyond my thirty-six years.

Turning away from my haggard appearance, I eye the bed. Toeing off my shoes, I sit on it, my weight depressing the mattress. I nearly let out a sigh as I move to lay my head against the pillow. Pulling my legs into the fetal position, I close my eyes and allow sleep to take over.

* * *

_Everything seems different as I slam the car door and proceed into the building. I know nothing's changed, but really, everything's changed._

_Walking towards the door, I feel like I'm floating, like the faintest of winds will pick me up and send me to places unknown. I don't feel like I'm anchored here any more. Part of me wants to be worried by this, but I chalk it up to time._

_I step inside and shove my glasses on the top of my head. Once I would have been thrilled to walk through those doors, know my life had a purpose and that I was going to help people. Now, I feel nothing but despair and ugliness; no matter how hard I work, people will still choose to kill._

_I see Judy and I wonder briefly if I should have even come here. Maybe seeing him at work was a stupid idea. My head has been filled with those._

_Judy's normally smiling and pleasant face is painted with surprise and without taking her eyes off of me, she picks up the phone and dials what I assume is Gil's office. She tries to smile at me, but fails, her mouth simply twitching on her face. Two words—"She's here"—and she hangs up the phone._

_He comes out nearly running, a sad and tired look drawn over his features. I feel sick and resist the urge to vomit all over the floor. All he does is continue to stare at me and I feel the eyes of the lab on us._

"_You left me." His voice cracks._

_I nod, tears starting to build up. "Yes."_

"_I hate you for that."_

_Tears roll down my cheeks, hot and wet, and I shake my head. "No, Gil, please…"_

"_I hate you for that," he repeats, more venom in his tone._

_Taking a step forward, I cry out as he steps back, avoiding me. "I love you."_

_He sighs and stares at his feet. His voice is barely audible. "I loved you."_

Waking with a start, I barely make it to the bathroom before I empty my stomach. Leaning back, I grab some toilet paper and wipe at my mouth. As I flush the toilet, I finally let my tears fall.

* * *

I don't remember it, but I must have crawled back to the bed and fell asleep. A groan escapes my lips as I swing my legs over the side of the bed and feel my tired muscles ache in protest. Rubbing at my eyes, I sit up and see Mary walking in with a tray of food. Setting it down, she turns to me with a smile.

"I didn't know what you liked," her voice is soft, "but I've got some tomato soup and a grilled cheese."

Softly, I hear my stomach rumble and realize it's probably been about sixteen hours since I last ate. "Thank you," I say, reaching for the grilled cheese.

Mary looks at me, her head at an angle and I feel like I'm being studied. Slowly, she beings to speak, "Long trip?"

I swallow and shake my head. "Vegas."

"Ah." A smile creeps up on her face. "Needed to get away from all the commotion?"

I stare down at the half eaten sandwich. "Something like that."

"Frank and I went there once. Thought it would be interesting to see what part of the country we were missing living here." She paused to sigh. "It was nice for a while, but the business of the whole town made it hard to think sometimes."

For the first time in what felt like years, I laughed. "I understand that."

"Well, I hope you find it relaxing here," she said with a smile. "I'll come get the tray when you're done."

Just as she was about to leave the room, I blurt out, "Wait!" She looks at me with quizzical glance and I wonderful if I should have just let her go. But there's a nagging curiosity tugging at me like a two-year-old at her mother's leg.

I don't know why, but I feel like I can open up to her.

"Yes, dear?" She steps back into the room, her soft smile ever present.

I look down at my hands as if hoping they have all the answers. I pick idly at my nails before looking back up at her. "How'd you come to own this place?" I finally ask, my voice soft and my eyes fixed on a random spot above her shoulder.

I thank whatever higher being there is she doesn't ask my why.

"Oh, well," Mary starts, moving further into the room and taking a seat on the small chair next to the dresser, "Frank and I were looking for a place to fix up and we'd heard of this place."

"_Laura, this place is gonna be fantastic." Dad pulled Mom closer to him, his arm curling protectively around her waist. "It's gonna be something."_

_I look up at the house in wonder, wanting nothing more than to run around on the porch, but knowing I should stay put._

_Mom looks up at Dad and smiles. "It's wonderful, John."_

_Turning towards me and Daniel, he smiles. "What do you kids think?"_

_Daniel scrunches up his nose, "It looks broken."_

_Dad just laughs. "We're gonna fix it up, son." Dad ruffles his hair and looks down at me. "What do you think, Sara?"_

"_I like it."_

Mary lets out a soft sigh and continues speaking. "It was owned previously by a family, but it was a violent one, and apparently, the fighting escalated way past the point of angry words and fists."

_I huddle under my bed, clinging desperately to the stuffed bear under my right arm. At nine, I felt too old to be drawing comfort from stuffed animals, but sometimes it was the only comfort I could find._

_Their screams seem to echo across the floor, shaking everything, including me. The vibrations of their words travel through my bones and burrow deep down within me._

"_What the fuck's your problem, Laura? Can't get a goddamned dinner on the table at a decent hour?"_

_A dish broke._

"_Shit, John, you know I'm here every day, taking care of the house, taking care of the kids! I try my best!"_

"_Don't talk back to me, you stupid bitch!"_

_The sound of skin on skin resonated up the stairs._

_Curling into the fetal position, I press my back against the wall and try to sleep in the dark corner under my bed._

Mary's voice got softer and softer as she spoke, as if trying to protect herself from the information she was telling. And I tried my best not to show any emotion, even though within me, I was a whirlwind of painful memories.

"I believe that poor mother was just trying to protect her children. But unfortunately, the courts didn't see it that way." Mary shook her head sadly.

"_Daniel, what's going to happen to us?" I whisper, hoping to keep our conversation from the many policemen and various members of law enforcement moving in and out of the house._

_His face never turns towards mine, only continues to stare out towards the ocean. He seems so strong sitting there, his face almost hard as stone, but his hands shake in his lap._

"_I don't know, Sara."_

_Turning, I look back into the house, most of the men moving about blocking my view of the kitchen. I shudder at the thought of all that blood and resist the urge to vomit again. Looking down at my hands, I see the remnants of the blood I couldn't wash off and start shaking._

_Mom's screams seem so loud as she's lead from the house in handcuffs, struggling against the two men leading her from the house. They push past Daniel and I and take her towards a squad car, forcing her into the back seat._

_As they drive off, I see her face through the window, crying and yelling for her children. _

"After everything was…cleaned up, they put the house back on the market and well, we found it. Knowing the history, we wanted to start fresh and make it new."

My voice is small and it's only now I notice I'm shaking, "That's quite a history."

Pushing herself from the chair, she stands and smoothes out her shirt. "It's like I always say, 'rich histories make rich people.' I suppose that's true for houses, too."

I make a wordless noise and watch as she moves towards the door. Picking up the tray and my half eaten lunch, she turns back and gives me a quick smile before leaving the room.


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I don't own them. :(

Thanks to **mingsmommy **for the wonderful beta and **princessklutz04** for reading and nudging me along. :) All mistakes are my own.

Thank you to everyone who's been reading thus far. :)

Sorry for the delay! But I'm finally finished with finals, so I'm hoping I can write more!

* * *

I can't think of another point in my life when I've felt this pathetic. I haven't done much in three days except lie in bed, occasionally getting up and joining everyone for dinner. But my appetite was lacking and I all I did was move the food around my plate.

My mind wanders constantly. The focus I once possessed seems to have disappeared with my old self. Books don't hold my interest, TV shows and news programs only remind me of all the horrible things in life and conversation with other guests is dull at best.

Besides telling Grissom nearly three years ago, I haven't really thought about my childhood. I tried my hardest to push those thoughts from my mind; the past was in the past. But ever since I asked Mary about the house, my brain hasn't shut off. Images and memories from this house and others rush back at me.

_The woman—I don't even remember her name—leads me up to the house, her hand resting almost protectively against my shoulder._

_Ringing the doorbell, she smiles down at me. "I know this is scary, but you're going to like it here."_

_Somehow, I don't believe her. I continue to stare at my feet, wishing I could disappear. Or be with Daniel. I don't even know where they took him._

_The door opens and a short, stocky woman stands before us. She doesn't smile, her beady eyes looking down at me with mild curiosity. I feel like a bug in a jar, being looked down on by everyone in disgust._

_The woman beside me nudges me forward and I take two shuffled steps into the house. Stocky Woman moves aside, but barely, and I enter a house full of noise and chaos._

I squeeze my eyes shut, hoping to erase the memory from my mind. Sitting up, I stare at myself in the mirror across from me.

I don't even know myself anymore.

I touch my face, almost expecting my hand to go straight through the image of my face. It's like some weird reassurance I still exist.

Swinging my legs off the side of the bed, I push myself up and stretch my muscles for what feels like the first time in a decade. A groan of satisfaction spills from my lips and for the first time since I left Las Vegas, I feel like a human being.

Peeking out the door, I make sure no one is coming and double check the main bathroom is unoccupied. Satisfied I won't be interrupted, I grab the only towel I managed to shove into one suitcase and make my way down the hall.

Once safely inside the bathroom, I check the toiletries offered and am relieved to find shampoo and soap sitting on a small ledge in the tub. I almost sigh at the thought of being able to use them; in my rush to leave, I forgot some of the most basic necessities.

I make a mental note to find the nearest store and stock up.

I run the water as hot as I can tolerate and allow the tub to fill. Stripping off my old clothes, I gingerly step into the tub and sigh as shivers of delight shoot up my legs. Molding completely with the contours of the tub, my toes curl and I'm completely enveloped in warmth. My muscles scream with relief; I feel boneless.

Resting my head against the ledge of the tub, I stare at the ceiling and count the number of bumps covering its surface. From all around me, I hear small noises of my past ebbing from the walls mixing with the modern din of the house.

Being here isn't as strange as I thought it'd be. But it doesn't make my being here any less distressing. The house is just a house, a structure of walls, plaster and paint. My memories make it my challenge to overcome.

I flick my gaze towards the faucet and watch as a drop finally falls and lands in the water with a soft 'plop'. I shudder as I realize this is where I first found my mother the night she killed my father.

_Softly, I walk towards the bathroom door and open it no more than an inch, the door creaking under my efforts. My mother's scream of surprise almost sends me backward._

_"Who's there?" she calls out, fear and agony in her tone._

_I clear my throat. "It's me. It's Sara."_

_"Oh, Sara," she wails._

_Pushing the door open the rest of the way, I find her kneeling beside the tub scrubbing furiously at her hands. Steam rises from the water pouring from the faucet and looking down at her hands, I noticed she's almost scrubbed them raw. Touching her wrist gently, I try to pull her hands away from the water, but she doesn't move._

_"Mom, what happened?"_

_She stops and buries her head in her hands. "I…oh God, Sara!" She looks back at the bathroom door and then back at me. Moving quicker than I've ever seen her move, she stands and heads towards the door. "I need to call the police."_

_I follow her, almost running to catch up, to the kitchen, but stop short before I even enter the threshold. I can see and smell the blood, a warm, metallic odor, from where I stand, and I look up at my mother in disbelief._

_She's standing next to where my father sprawled on the ground, wringing the cord to the phone in her hand and mumbling as she waits for the call to go through. I look between her and my father lying still in a pool of blood and listen as she calmly tries to get help._

_Once she sets down the phone, she looks at me. "I had to, Sara," she starts softly, "I had to."_

The intense urge to leave the bathroom nearly consumes me, but I fight off the urge long enough to quickly wash my hair and myself. Not caring if I've washed out all the shampoo in my hair, I step out of the tub and watch the water swirl down the drain.

Hugging the towel to my chest, I gather up my old clothes and make sure the hallway is deserted before leaving the confines of the bathroom. Half running, I quickly shut the bedroom door behind me.

I finish drying off and throw on a pair of sweats and a shirt. I never was one to overly care about my appearance, but I know I've been lax lately. Using the towel to dry my hair, I see my phone sitting on the small end table next to the bed.

Picking it up, I sigh.

I haven't talked to Gil since I left. Guilt grips at my conscious as I flip open the phone and turn it on. I expect to find several missed calls and maybe a few voicemails, but there's only the one from him I ignored at the airport.

I glance at the clock.

6:42 PM.

I feel like my stomach is going to fall through my ass, and without thinking, I dial his work number. I know he won't answer unless he's working a double, but somehow this seems safer…he won't know it's me.

He answers on the second ring. "Grissom."

My heart skips a beat and my breath catches in my throat. His voice sounds tired, but it's the most beautiful thing I've heard.

"Hello?"

My voice cracks as I speak. "Hi."

I can hear him sit up and after a few seconds, I hear the door to his office close. "Sara?"

"Yeah," I sigh.

"Where are you? Are…are you okay?" he asks, his voice softer.

I blow out a breath. "I'm in Tamales Bay. And I don't know."

The concern in his voice grows. "Are you hurt?"

A small smile forms on my face. "No, no. I'm…I'm just tired."

"I…I, uh, got your letter," his voice dropped and I hear him shift in his seat. "Are we okay?"

Even though he can't see me, I nod. Tears burn at my eyes and roll down my cheeks. "I love you. I do," I choke out. "And I miss you, a whole lot, Gil, and being away from you is hard. But I need to do this, I need to be here."

He sighs, "I know." Pause. "I love you, too."

Wiping at my tears, I keep talking. "I'm staying at my old house. It's, um, weird. All my memories are here even though everything's different."

"Is it helping?" Even speaking about something so close to both of us, so emotional, I am not surprised at the scientific curiosity I hear in his tone.

I shake my head, "I don't know. But I need to bury my past."

For a few moments, we remain silent.

"I'm glad you called," Gil finally says.

"I needed to. I…I needed to hear your voice," I sigh. "It sounds so good."

"Are you going to call again?"

I smile weakly. "Yeah, yeah, I'll call again."

He sighs heavily. "Okay." In the background I can hear the door to his office open and Gil quickly mumbles, "I have to go," before hanging up the phone.

Looking down at the phone in my hand and watching the flashing numbers signaling the end of the call, I realize for the first time in my life, I'm not alone.


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I don't own them. :(

Thanks to **mingsmommy **for the wonderful beta and **princessklutz04** for reading and nudging me along. :) All mistakes are my own.

Thank you to everyone who's been reading thus far. :)

* * *

The next few days go by quickly and I can't believe I've been here a week. My mind's calmed some, but I still feel like it's running faster than I can keep up with. But since talking to Gil, I feel more confident I can remain here and heal.

Many of the other guests have gone home, leaving only a gentleman from Washington and myself for the Thanksgiving weekend.

I throw on a pair of lounge pants and make my way down the stairs. I can already smell the dinner Mary's preparing for tonight. Butter, onion and turkey invade my senses, and for a brief moment, I wish I ate meat. Walking into the kitchen, I find Mary standing over the counter, reading a cookbook and humming softly to herself. Without even looking up, she greets me as I sit down on a stool across from her.

"Happy Thanksgiving, Sara." She smiles at me warmly and hands me a cookbook. "I know you won't be eating the turkey, so why don't you look through there and find something I can make you."

"Oh, no, that's okay." I try to hand the book back, but Mary refuses.

"I insist. You're one of two people here; it's really no problem."

I cave and start flipping through the cookbook, trying to find something reasonable to make. As I turn a page, a piece of paper falls out from between the pages. Recognizing my mother's handwriting, I drop the paper as if it's burned my fingers.

Mary looks at me with a curious eye and I pick up the paper and offer an apologetic smile. "Sorry. Paper cut."

Picking up the small sheet, I trail my fingers over the slightly faded ink and I suddenly feel as if the entire room has faded away and all that exists is this paper and I.

"_Sara, would you like to help me bake?"_

_Her voice is soft, and I look between were she stands and where my father had left moments before. His words still echoed in my head and I know they still lingered in hers._

_Watching my movements, she places a comforting hand on my shoulder. "He won't bother us again. It's okay."_

_I wanted to tell her it would never be okay, that no amount of baking could ever make the things he said or did okay. Instead, I slowly nodded my head and followed her into the kitchen. _

Mary's soft voice pulls me back to reality. "Sara? Are you okay?"

I blink at her. "Uh, yeah." I clear my throat. "Where did you get this?"

Taking the recipe from my hand, she looks at it and smiles. "Oh, this? I found that hidden in one of the kitchen drawers when Frank and I first started renovating the place. Makes some of the best baked macaroni and cheese I've ever had."

I continued to stare at the recipe but I spoke softly, "I'd like to make it. If that's okay."

"Sure thing," Mary smiled. "I'm almost positive I've got macaroni noodles around here."

With Mary off in search of noodles, I take the opportunity to look around the kitchen. Not much had changed but the room would never be the same. The walls were painted a soft yellow, much different from the stark white that once colored them. The floor tiles had been replaced with hard wood, but I could still visualize where my father's body lay in a pool of his own blood.

Catherine would have had a field day with all the spatter.

"Ah! Here they are!" Mary called from the pantry.

She hands me the box and I smile. After Mary gives me a small tour of the kitchen, I gather up all of the supplies I need and set up a workstation on the counter across from where she stands.

"So, how did you meet Frank?" I ask, starting a pot of water.

Mary cuts a few more potatoes before looking up. As she wipes her hands on her apron, she answers, "My father use to own a hardware store and on weekends he'd let me work there. Well, Frank walked in on a Saturday, and I just knew." Pausing, she starts to mash the potatoes and looks at me. "You married, Sara?"

I look down at the water as if hoping the answer was floating around just waiting to be stirred up. "Um, engaged."

Mary's eyes lit up. "Oh, that's wonderful! Have a date picked out?"

I sigh. "No. We both move slowly. Well, relationship-wise anyway."

A wordless noise bubbled from her lips. "Sounds like Frank. Waited five years before working up the courage to even ask me out. But, I suppose, with him being ten years older, he had a lot going against him."

Looking up at Mary, I feel a new sense of closeness, something I haven't had with anyone, even those I've known the longest—except for Gil. "Eight."

Her brow furrows and confusion sweeps across her face. "Excuse me?"

Clearing my throat, I answer, "It took Gil eight years to ask me out."

At that, she smiles, "Ah, then you understand." She mashes more before she turns back towards me. "You know, Sara, I think men are just afraid of feeling what women feel. When women love, we love completely and that scares them. Men are always portrayed as strong and seemingly emotionless, that when they finally feel that way, they get scared."

I look at her in slight disbelief. "Uh, yeah."

Giving a shrug, she goes back to her work. "Just my take on it. Works out for the best though, right?"

I simply nod. "Yeah. It does."

* * *

I finish making the rest of the baked macaroni and help Mary finish up making dinner for her family and the other guest before she shoos me out of the kitchen. I take the time to grab a quick shower before dinner's ready.

Over the past couple of days, the apprehension I had about entering the bathroom has dissipated and I feel more at ease; after all, it's just a bathroom.

After a quick wash, I wrap the towel around my frame and head back to my room. Closing the door behind me, I eye the phone sitting on the bedside table and notice the small flashing red light. Sitting on the bed, the mattress depressing under my weight, I pick up the phone. Flipping it open, I see my favorite seven letters and smile.

We've talked three times since I've arrived here, each conversation increasingly falling into our normal comfort level, which I'm grateful for; leaving him was hard enough and with our only communication via telephone, the more normal the better.

I hit redial and after the second ring, his warm voice floods through my system. "Sara."

I smile—and it's a real smile. "Hey, Gil. Sorry I missed you."

"It's okay," he says softly. "I just wanted to hear your voice."

Ignoring the fact I'm clad in only a towel, I lie back on the bed and attempt to get comfortable. "Rough day?"

He sighs heavily into the phone. He tells me everything is fine back home, but part of me knows he's covering up his feelings to make my being here easier on both of us. But I know he's hurting just as much as I am. "Hodges has been running around coercing everyone into playing some game he made up."

"Sounds mildly amusing," I laugh.

"It's Hodges."

For a few moments, he doesn't speak and a comfortable silence floats between us. When he finally speaks, there's sadness in his tone. "Uh, Nick asked me out to breakfast." He clears his throat. "They keep asking about you."

I shift uncomfortably. I knew my leaving would raise eyebrows and lead to questions; they're all trained investigators after all. And I know they want nothing but the best for both us, but I can't help but feel bad for Gil for taking the brunt of it all. "What do you tell them?"

"I don't know what to tell them, Sara."

I swallow hard. "I'm sorry," I say softly.

"You should never be sorry. You're doing what you have to do."

A smile pulls at my lips. "Thank you."

He doesn't speak, but I can practically see him nod. "How's your day been?" he finally asks.

"Today…today's been an okay day," I say, pushing myself from the bed to go look for something more comfortable than a damp towel to wear.

"Eventful?"

"Um, so far. I found a recipe of my mother's tucked into one of Mary's cookbooks. I uh," I bite my lip and pause slightly, staring at the plain white shirt in my hand, "I felt like the paper burned my skin. I haven't touched anything of hers in so long."

"Have you found anything else?"

Looking down, I eye the floorboards. As I rock slightly, I can hear the slight creak and I quickly step off. "No, but I really haven't been looking. I'm still trying to get over the fact I used to live here." I look around and sigh, "There are a lot of bad memories here."

"But you're okay there?" he asks, his worry evident.

"I'm okay here."

In the background, I hear Hank bark and Gil shoo him away. "I should walk him. He's been bothering me all afternoon."

I laugh, "Yeah, and we both know if you don't do it soon, he'll bark until he gets his way. Kinda like you."

Gil snorted, "I do not bark. I just have ways of making you succumb to my will."

I scoff in mock annoyance, "Go take care of your dog, Gilbert."

"Yes ma'am," he says, and if I could see him, I bet any money he was saluting as well. "I'll talk to you later?"

"Yes you will. Bye, honey."

"Oh, Sara?"

"Hmm?"

"Happy Thanksgiving."

I smile, "Happy Thanksgiving, Gil."


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: I don't own them. :(

Thanks to **mingsmommy **for the wonderful beta and **princessklutz04** for reading and nudging me along. :) All mistakes are my own.

Thank you to everyone who's been reading thus far. :)

* * *

Walking along the shore, the sand seeping between my toes and the cool ocean water licking my skin, I turn back and realize I've walked farther than I thought.

Since I found my mother's recipe in the cookbook, I've wondered what else from my past has survived the renovation. After being in the house for a few weeks (has it really been that long?) I find myself more at ease. The uncertain atmosphere which enveloped me when I first entered the house and followed me for several days has dissipated somewhat; I still have apprehension whenever I step into the kitchen.

But I don't know if I'm ready to uncover the secrets the house still holds. I hid things to keep them from the prying eyes of my father, but also to try and convince myself that my life was normal; if my secrets were buried, then they really didn't exist.

My father found the journal I kept and the intensity of his rage during that moment was the first time I'd ever felt threatened by him. Most of the abuse he dealt Daniel and me was emotional, the same way most of the abuse he dealt our mother was physical.

But this…this was scary.

"_What the hell is this, Sara?"_

_He was angry. The pages of my most secret thoughts were being waved in front of me, and all I could think about was the fact I couldn't finish my last entry. _

_I don't answer him and continue to stare at the floor, hoping he'll just give up and go away. A bug crawls near my toes and I shudder._

"_Are you listening to me, you dumb bitch?"_

_I'm only ten and already I've heard more swear words than most people my age. Some kids think it's cool to finally use ass or shit. I've been hearing it since I was five and it's not cool at all. _

_His cold, hard hands clamp down hard against my shoulders and I look up at him in surprise and fear. My eyes are big, as he leans in closer to my face and I can feel the heat pouring off his skin._

"_I'm taking these, you understand?" he asks, seething, his hot breath rushing over my skin._

_His breath smells like alcohol._

_Giving me one last shake, he crumples the torn pages and walks from the room._

The water surges forward and splashes my legs and I shiver from the cold. Looking back towards the house, I make my way back, grabbing my shoes on the way.

I'm greeted with silence as I enter the house; both Mary and Frank are out for a quick shopping trip and the other guests remain quiet in the comfort of their rooms. Leaving my shoes at the front door, I pad softly up the stairs and close my door with a soft snick.

Sitting on the bed, I look down at a spot on the floor just left of the small dresser. I carved a small 's' into the corner so I'd remember which board held my thoughts—not that I'd forget, but mostly to remind myself that something in this house belonged to me.

My father always used to yell that everything in the house belonged to him. He was the one working, bringing in the money while my mother did a piss poor job of helping with the B&B. But this, my floorboard, that was mine.

Picking up my phone, I dial Gil's number and without giving him a proper greeting, I blurt out, "You ever bury something from your past?"

I can almost see his eyebrows furrow in thought, the slight purse of his lips and hear the thought in his voice. "My mother buried our cat in the backyard. I was eight."

I shake my head, "No, something you bury to try and convince yourself it's not real."

He's silent for a moment before his voice rings through the receiver, soft and honest. "I tried to bury my feelings for you. I…thought I would never be good enough for you, so I suppressed those feelings." His voice drops, "But I always knew they were there."

"Yeah," I breathe, staring at the floorboards beneath me. "What happened when you uncovered them?"

"I got you."

I bite my lip and try to keep from crying. "Yeah, I got you, too."

"What are you trying to uncover, Sara?"

Walking over the floorboard and hearing its slight creak, I bend down and test its looseness. It gives under my touch and I sit down on the floor and stare at it like I'm about to open Pandora's box.

Maybe I am.

When I speak, my voice is so soft, I wonder if he can even hear me. "When I was ten my father found my journal and got so furious, I thought he'd finally go after me." I swallow hard. "After that, I started hiding my journals under the loose floorboard in my room: they were my secret with the house. I'm staring at it right now."

"What happens next?"

"I don't know," I whisper. "If I uncover them, I'll be faced with my past. If I don't, I'll know they're there and they'll still haunt me."

We're both silent for a moment, both of us content enough to listen to the soft sounds of our breathing. I suppose it's not so different than if I were at home. I've often found myself entranced with the sound of Gil's breathing as we eat, read books or just before we fall asleep; the cadence and inflection is so uniquely him.

It may be strange to notice something so trivial in the person you plan to spend the rest of your life with, but we never followed conventional dating patterns. We slept together before he could work up the courage to ask me on a proper date.

"I'm afraid." The raw fear in my voice scares me, and I feel weak for revealing something so…real. "For as long as I can remember, I've been trying to hide my past, hide who I am, or was, I don't even know. And now…now all I have to do is flip over a lousy floorboard and I'm faced with everything I've tried to keep away."

"I can be on the next plane out, Sara. We can do this together."

I smile. "No, I need to do this myself."

"I thought you'd say that, but I wanted to offer." He continues then, his voice is soft and steady. "You're one of the strongest people I know, Sara. Not many people can face death everyday of their life and handle it as well as you have. I've seen you at the hands of bad people and never once did you give up." He pauses and swallows heavily. "And you never gave up on me."

My throat feels tight and I blow out a long breath to keep from crying. "Yeah, okay," I rasp, "I can do this. I, uh, can I call you back?"

I know he's nodding. "Of course, Sara."

"Okay."

"I love you."

A smile pulls at my lips. "Love you, too."

I hang up and test the floorboard once more; it shifts beneath my fingertips. Taking in a deep breath, I know if I don't do it now, I never will. With minimal force, the board lifts up, old dust and spider webs lining the underside. As I set it aside, I see the bundle of faded papers and my breathing quickens.

My hands shake as I pull them out and a slight paranoia falls over me, as if at any moment my father could storm in and discover my secret. I do look behind me, knowing if Mary walked in, she probably wouldn't approve of me dismantling her floor.

I put the board back in its place and taking the faded memories of my childhood with me, I sit on the bed. Unfolding one, I begin to read my own childish scrawl:

_April 4, 1982_

_The fighting's getting worse. Mom tells me everything is fine, that Dad's just stressed about work and that things will get better. But I know she's lying. I'm eight, not stupid._

_Just once I'd like us to be a normal family._

_June 16, 1982_

_Dad broke Mom's nose today. I came home from school and they were fighting. I could hear their screams before I even walked in the door. They were even yelling about anything important. Just how Mom is a "stupid bitch". Then he punched her. She screamed, but didn't cry._

_  
Crying always makes him angry. He's always louder when someone cries. _

I sift through my past; each entry more painful to read than the previous, because I know the fighting only gets worse. It escalates way past the point of bruises and broken noses. It escalates to death.

For almost three hours I read and reread entries, tears falling onto the faded paper, but it's almost as if they belong there. Too long I spent trying not to cry, trying to be brave. As if being brave would protect me from the reality of my words.

Emotionally spent, I want nothing more than to crawl into bed and sleep for a few days. But wallowing in self pity never got anyone anywhere, and I can't allow myself to slip backwards. I want overcome my past, not be overwhelmed by it.

I gather all the pieces of paper and head back downstairs and slip on my shoes. I nearly break into a run and before I know it I am standing knee deep in the frigid ocean water, sand seeping between my toes. One by one, I rip the entries into pieces and scatter them into the rolling waves.

I feel slightly manic and I'm torn between wanting to laugh or cry. Hot tears still roll down my cheeks, but I'm smiling as I continue ripping my memories and send them to the mercy of the water. The ink bleeds and fades into the paper, as if erasing itself from existence.

Throwing the last one in, I feel emotionally lighter than I've ever felt and I pull my cell phone from my pocket. Hitting redial, I smile as his voice fills my ear. And I say the only thing I'm capable of saying.

"I'm free."


End file.
